Linger
by roomsickgirl
Summary: Every time, they would stay in the locker room and lean on each other. Every time, it was ephemeral. Every time, Hiyoshi would be left in a daze.


another atohiyo fic repost from my ao3. not bothering to repost my drabbles from there, though.

* * *

It happened, though Hiyoshi wasn't sure why it happened.

He didn't know why every time the locker rooms slowly went empty, Atobe would ask him to stay.

He didn't know why Atobe had began to take interest in him, even though he _was_ going to be the future captain of Hyotei.

He didn't know why Atobe would pull him close, with the conversation dying out from their lips, and he would lean and press them together.

He didn't know why he trailed his hands to his arm, to his shoulder, to his back, and _closer_.

He just didn't know _why_.

He didn't know _why_ he had let himself be taken, he didn't know _why_ he leaned in himself, he didn't know _why_ he was chosen. Chosen to be those people that helped ease through stress and anxiety.

But everytime he did, his shoulders would immediately slack and he felt that Atobe, too, would weaken.

(But of all the people Atobe chose, it had to be Hiyoshi.)

It became a daily ritual after every practice.

Ootori, at first, questioned why Hiyoshi would always stay in, but Atobe merely looked at him, and brushed it off. He apologized to Hiyoshi that he left him, and went home with Shishido.

Hiyoshi didn't mind, but he hardly ever found himself to mind at all when he was in the empty locker rooms, in their fresh clothes, against Atobe.

Every time he would find himself trailing his hands the way he would; from Atobe's hands, to his arms, to his shoulders, then to his back. Every time he would find himself being _pulled_ to him, and Hiyoshi pulling _him_.

It fogged his thoughts, every time they would kiss, like Hiyoshi would forget anything that had happened and just _focus_ on Atobe and his lips. Focus on the way he would tilt his head, focus on the way their lips would quickly meet perfectly, focus on every touch, every gasp of air, every feel of their tongues teasingly slide when they kiss.

Then, all too soon, Atobe would pull away, peck him on the forehead, and bid goodbye.

Every time, Hiyoshi would be left in the locker rooms in a daze.

And at home he would give himself a little bit of composure, then he'll be clear headed, as if it was another occurrence that happened every time he was in school.

But before he would sleep, he would subconsciously put his fingers on his lips and recall the way they glided on each other, and Hiyoshi would feel a heavy ache and then he would black out.

This day, the clouds skimmed over and at unknown times, little droplets would fall. Hiyoshi had not brought an umbrella, and even if he walked with Ootori to school- he always had umbrellas- he didn't know what to do after dismissal.

The gloom seemed to have spread across the school, too, as the day went by much more silently than usual.

Even with the presence of Atobe during half of the morning practice didn't give him much of the intimidation and challenge needed.

Oftenly, too, Hiyoshi caught Atobe's gaze, but nothing happened.

As if the look gave _any_ message to anyone, but Hiyoshi found himself striding closer to where Atobe could be, and too many times they walked by each other and glance, and nothing was said during every interaction.

During class hours, Hiyoshi only looked at everywhere but the teacher. He absent-mindedly tapped his pencil on his open notebook, flicking marks on the paper. The teacher's words were nothing but blurb, as he focused his gaze on the chalkboard that meant nothing to him.

During lunch, he simply nodded or shook his head to reply to any of Ootori's conversations. He was nice enough to let a few words slip.

At practice, no one had much energy to even properly practice. Atobe's angry sermons only shook a little to give a decent amount of swinging and matches.

Hiyoshi didn't know if his anger was all a mask, but almost everything that Atobe wore is a mask. He didn't feel the vibrating anger that he should've had.

So, he stared.

Hiyoshi had always stared, and sometimes it wasn't something that he can help. Often too many times he would be in a daydream, or over thinking about many situations that may or may not happen.

His father had not done anything about it when he was taught Kobujutsu. Maybe it was a family trait, or maybe that Hiyoshi just _does_ , and they just don't mind.

And so he stared.

He stared at the courts, the matches, the rackets, and Atobe. Ootori snapped his fingers twice in front of him, and once, Shishido pushed his bangs off of his forehead and called him out. Usually, he would scowl, but now he just brushed it off lightly, like it was nothing.

The others didn't question his behavior. They were feeling the same, too, so they put it off.

And again, Atobe caught his gaze. Once, it was long.

It was a little from afar, when he rested against a wall, with his towel on his hand, nothing done in particular. He looked up, then he found Atobe. He stood beside a court, his eyes on a match. He turned around and looked at him, and Hiyoshi studied his figure.

Silently, with nothing to say.

Then he turned to the match again.

In the locker rooms, Ootori spoke small to him, saying unnecessary things to fill up the quiet room.

Hiyoshi wasn't done tying his tie when Ootori bid him a goodbye and went out with Shishido.

He faced his locker, and slowly, the room dispersed. The small chatters quieted down, and all was left was a gray-lit room with him and Atobe in it.

It was cold, and they were far apart. He suddenly heard tapping, and before he knew it, he felt a bit of water shyly spatter on his face.

He looked outside and there was a small downpour, and with the darkness outside, the room looked too enlightening to him that it hurt his eyes.

"Wakashi."

His voice blended with the rain, but it was clear enough for Hiyoshi to hear.

For reasons unknown, Hiyoshi felt his neck get hot, and he slowly turned around. The room bounced his name silently, with the tones of Atobe leaving a trail.

"Atobe-san."

Then, Atobe pressed himself against Hiyoshi and leaned, their lips joining together.

Hiyoshi felt little moisture from Atobe's lips, like it was slightly cracked even with the chapstick he always uses. He didn't mind, but when had he minded about anything when they kiss?

Again, Hiyoshi trailed his fingers to his arms, but quickly to his back. He felt a certain type of eagerness that he couldn't describe, and pulled.

Atobe seemed to have gotten his message, and wrapped his arms around Hiyoshi; his palms flat against back, while Hiyoshi's fingers clenched against the fabric.

Again, Atobe tilted his head and they fit much better.

Again, they slowly moved and felt their tongues slide along each other. They tasted, they felt, and it was intoxicating.

Again, Hiyoshi quickly pulled out to pant, but he returned every time with his eyes closed.

Again, their lips and breaths and shuffles sounded the room, but now with the continuous clatter of the rain.

But it was okay, because Hiyoshi's mind was fogged and the only thing he did was follow and feel.

But this, however, was every other time, because Atobe would pull away too soon, peck him, and leave Hiyoshi alone.

(He was, after all, chosen to be relieved of stress. Nothing more.)

All too soon, Atobe straightened his back while Hiyoshi still had himself leaned on Atobe. His grip on his back loosened and his hands laid flat against his back softly, and slowly slid down on his sides.

Atobe slightly ruffled his hair then pecked Hiyoshi on the cheeks, then on the side of his lips.

Hiyoshi immediately felt the ache that he felt every night, suffocating him as his stomach went in turmoil.

Just before he knew it, Atobe slipped away from him and Hiyoshi quickly, _desperately_ , grabbed Atobe's arm, and both froze at their places.

Their eyes stared at each other, eyebrows furrowed, screaming and clawing mixed emotions, though confusion on Atobe's. Hiyoshi's grip on his arm tightened, then softened, but still there.

"Please," he pleaded.

His word was drowned out by the sudden strength of the downpour, but he made it clear, concrete, just strong enough for Atobe to _understand-_

Then Hiyoshi's fingers were tangled with Atobe's. The warmth tingled his skin and it spread out through his body, and he tightened the grip and they both walked closer to each other again, and his presence wrapped Hiyoshi with _something_ , something Hiyoshi couldn't pinpoint what.

But it was okay, because he wanted that Something to devour him.

Then the steps echoed across the room, and it disappeared as soon as Hiyoshi's other hand gripped Atobe's sleeve. They were close, as they could feel each other's breaths on their cheeks.

Hiyoshi only saw his collar, barely seeing Atobe's face. He didn't bother, then he felt his forehead leaning against his.

"I thought you only obliged," Atobe breathed, "because we both felt pressure."

Hiyoshi looked up to Atobe's eyes and wanted to scream at him because he _didn't._ He didn't oblige because Atobe kissed him. He _wanted_ it. He _loved_ every bit of it.

"No," Hiyoshi lightly shook his head. "Please, just…" _please stay._

Atobe kissed him again. Hiyoshi returned it fully.

"I'll stay."


End file.
